


Out Here Alone

by Salr323



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of theWest Wing Fanfiction Central, a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in theannouncement post.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: _Alone, all alone_  
Nobody, but nobody  
Can make it out here alone.  
"Alone"- Maya Angelou  


* * *

They'd gotten into town late, as usual, and it was after midnight when Donna dragged herself down the soulless corridor of the… What was it? Hyatt? Radisson? She couldn't remember. Didn't matter, they were all soulless. This one was no exception, with its fluorescent lights trying vainly to compensate for the complete lack of daylight in the rabbit warren of identikit rooms.

She wondered if she wasn't getting just the tiniest bit jaded. Time was, not so many years ago, when she'd have been excited to be here. Just to be here. She remembered the day she'd spent in LA, way back at the beginning of the administration, and how astonishing it had seemed that she, Donna Moss, would be flying with the President of the United States to spend a day in Los Angeles. And she remembered how Josh had teased her because-

A sliver of pain sliced down from her chest into her stomach, cutting off the thought. Memories like those were dangerous, they led to the forbidden emotions - regret, loss, guilt. She didn't do that, not anymore. She was the new Donna Moss, reborn after seven years of drudgery. And she'd be damned if she felt guilty about that. Even at midnight, when she was dead on her feet and facing another lonely hotel bedroom.

Dismissing the thought, dismissing all thoughts of Joshua Lyman, she swiped the key card (refusing to let it remind her of him) and slipped into her room. The air-conditioning was blasting, chilling the room down to ridiculous levels. Hadn't these people ever heard of energy efficiency? She pushed the thermostat up to seventy-eight and the noise of the fan stopped. The TV was on in the corner, welcoming Ms D Moss to the hotel with the aid of the usual tacky muzak. She switched it off, kicked off her shoes, and fell back onto the wide bed with a sigh.

She was tired. Weary to the core. And there were almost exactly five and a half hours before she had to get up and start again. Not that she minded. She loved her job, loved the responsibility and the constant nervous tension she felt from never being quite sure if she could do what they wanted of her - and then doing it, and exceeding all their expectations. It was a buzz. It was what she'd missed for so long back at the White House. And yet…

And yet there was a yet. There was something missing here too, something that she remembered from the Bartlet campaign. A different sort of buzz, an energy. This time it almost felt formulaic, as if they were just going through the motions of campaigning rather than actually fighting for something. Of course they were going to win the nomination, everyone knew that. Russell was the front runner, the Vice President. So the whole thing seemed somewhat…redundant. Sure, there were hurdles, but the campaign pretty much ploughed through them rather than leaping over them; the Russell Campaign was a juggernaut, and was driven with about as much finesse.

Not that there was anything wrong with Bob Russell. He was more competent than most people realized and he was a good Democrat. If, by good, you meant that he said what most Democrats wanted to hear. And wasn't that what politics were all about, representing the views of your constituents? Except…

She couldn't stop thinking about Matthew Santos and his secret sit-in, about how he'd sat up all night discussing stem cell research with his colleagues, not to strong arm them into voting his way, but to discuss the issues. To actually discuss the issues - to listen and to argue. Russell would never have done that; Russell hadn't done that. He'd left DC and gotten straight back to the campaign.

And that was the yet, that was what nagged like a stone in her shoe. Bob Russell wasn't the real thing. He was going to win, yes, but he wasn't the real thing. He was no Josiah Bartlet. And maybe, just maybe, Matt Santos was. Just thinking about that made her queasy and excited all at once. If things had been different, if Josh had been more like Will Bailey, then maybe she'd still be with-

Her phone rang. For a moment she just lay there staring at the ceiling. What couldn't wait for another five and a half hours? Truth was, lots of things. With a sigh she rolled over, snatched her purse off the floor and dug out her cell. "Donna Moss."

"Hey, Donna. I hope I didn't wake you."

She sat bolt upright. "Leo?"

"Yeah. Is it okay me calling this late?"

"It's fine. I just got in." And then, because it was so strange for him to be calling her at all, she added, "How are you?"

"I'm good. Listen, Donna, I need you to do something for me."

"Of course."

There was a pause and he sighed. "Something happened here. Between Josh and Toby."

Despite everything, her heart missed a beat. "What happened?"

"I don't have all the details, but… Well, seems like they had a fight."

Which wasn't actually that remarkable. "You mean they argued over-"

"I mean they had fight. Like boys in the school yard."

"Oh my God! In the White House?"

"Toby's office."

Her hand pressed over her mouth, Donna wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it or go and yell at the pair of them. "Are they okay? I mean, did they hurt themselves - each other?"

"We're not talking Mohammed Ali and Joe Frazier here," Leo snorted. "Yeah, they're okay." Another pause. "You know Toby just lost his brother?"

"Yes, I'd heard. He must be… I can't imagine."

"Yeah, he probably shouldn't have been back at work. He wasn't himself, but Josh…"

"Josh should know better!" Donna snapped. "How could he do that? How could he-"

"That's my point."

His grave voice pricked her anger, dissolving it into a nagging unease. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Donna, the last time Josh threw a punch it was through a window in his apartment."

The walls closed in, her vision narrowing to the weave of the floral bedspread on which she sat. Not that. Not that again. "Do you think he's-"

"I don't know. But I didn't get to speak to him before he left, and so I wanted to ask you…" He paused and cleared his throat. "I know you don't see a lot of him, Donna, but you're the closest thing to a friend he has out there. Keep an eye on him, would you?"

"Yeah, I'll- I might see him tomorrow." For all the good it would do; Josh could barely look at her anymore. "Leo? You should call him too. Obviously I'll try and see if I can - you know - see how he's doing, but…" And, God, saying this hurt so much more than she'd expected. "We're not really getting along, so I'm not sure how much I can help…"

Her mind was flashing back to that night, that Christmas, and how alone he'd seemed then, and how truly alone he was now, and how there was no one to notice if he-

It's his own fault! she snapped at herself. He made you leave. He gave you no choice!

Only right then, right there, that made absolutely no difference at all. The only thing she could think about was that if he needed her, she wasn't there. And that he didn't have anyone else.

***

The desert was a vast expanse of burnt orange, spread beneath a sulfurous sky.

That was the first thing he noticed. The second was the breeze that brushed his face and stank of scalded popcorn.

Josh?

A voice came from behind and he turned with a start, heart thumping once, twice, three times. Toby knelt in the sand, a vicious cut across his right cheek, his eyes fixed on an emaciated figure that lay before him. You shouldn't have left, Toby said, lifting his gaze to fix Josh with piercing, accusatory eyes.

I had to.

You're killing him, don't you see? You're leaving him to die.

Josh's eyes dipped to the prone figure, little more than a skeleton, but still grotesquely recognizable as Jed Bartlet. You shouldn't have left, the President said through his cadaverous mouth.

I had to, I-

Behind him an engine roared into life and Josh spun around. A sleek, black SUV glinted in the absent sunshine, Donna at the wheel. In front of it, reaching down from the clouds, poured a curtain of liquid flame. A burning waterfall. Donna threw the car into gear and revved the engine.

Wait! he shouted at her, but she didn't seem to hear. Donna, listen to me. You can't go in there, it's not safe. Stay outside.

She turned and cocked her head. It's your fault, Josh. I'm telling Mom you made me leave.

No! I didn't!

With a smile, she put her foot on the gas.

Listen to me! Don't go back in there-

The SUV lurched forward and hit the wall of flame. She screamed, over and over and over, and the pain exploded in his chest with a white, liquid heat that burned his blood. "Donna!"

He woke with a start, heart pounding, in a dark, anonymous room. He was rigid with terror, every muscle was locked. The only sound in the darkness was his own ragged breathing, but he could still hear her screaming, like an echo in his mind. With a supreme effort of will, Josh forced himself to relax each muscle, one by one. Arms, legs, fingers…

Just a dream, he told himself. Just as he had the last three nights. Just a dream.

He lifted a hand to his face and realized it was shaking. His throat was raw, his skin was slick with sweat. And the acrid stench of burning popcorn clung to everything.

But it was just a dream.

***

Donna was awake before her wakeup call. Truth was, she'd been tossing and turning all night, her mind restlessly wandering through memories and fears. It was depressing that, after months of trying to rebuild her life without him at its center, one little phone call could bring all her efforts crashing down around her ears.

She didn't want Josh Lyman to be the first thing she thought of when she woke up in the morning. She didn't want to worry that he needed her help. She didn't want him to need her at all - that was the whole point. That was why she'd left, because he'd needed her so much that he'd lied to her. He'd sold her a bill of goods and told her it was gold dust. He'd pretended he was watching out for her, when all along he was just fastening an anchor around her waist and letting her drown.

And yet here she was, worrying about him as if the past eight months hadn't happened. You're the closest thing to a friend he's got, Leo had said, and how could she refuse a guilt-trip like that? She'd do as much for anyone, right? For Toby, or CJ. It didn't mean she was backsliding. It didn't mean that, once she'd sorted this out, she would still wake-up worrying about him. And she could ignore that empty ache in her chest, because the new Donna Moss was moving onward and upward all by herself. And she liked it that way.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed already, she watched the clock on the nightstand flick over to six. If she got down early she might catch him at breakfast. She'd seen a couple of the Santos staff on her way in, so she knew they were cohabiting, and last night that had given her a buzz. Perhaps it was petty, but she liked Josh seeing her in her new role. She wanted him to understand how wrong he'd been about her, how much she'd grown since she left him.

But this morning? This morning she didn't care about any of that. This morning she just wanted to see him, make sure he was still himself. Maybe see him smile. She missed his smile, all his smiles. He had lots of smiles, each one was different and- "Oh my God," she hissed at herself. "Stop it!"

The new Donna Moss did not miss Josh's smiles! The new Donna Moss was profoundly pissed at the way he had abused their friendship, lied to her, and exploited her loyalty. The only problem was, the old Donna Moss was staging a come back and she wanted to look into his eyes and make sure he was okay. Really okay. She was afraid he'd back away from her, or fidget in such distracted irritation that it looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. She was afraid he'd look pale and tense, and so brittle he might shatter.

She'd seen all that before, and never wanted to see it again. Ever.

Taking a deep breath, Donna steadied herself. It was entirely possible, she realized, that she was about to split right down the middle and that the new and old versions of herself would spend the day lobbing grenades at each other. Either way, Leo had given her a job to do and she would do it, no matter how conflicted she felt about Joshua Lyman. If he needed help, she'd help him. Just like she'd help a stray dog.

Picking up her bag, she headed out of her room and down into the restaurant where a buffet breakfast was laid out. This early there was hardly anyone about, so she quickly grabbed a warm Danish, before they all disappeared, and headed for the coffee machine. She'd just sat down and taken her first bite of pastry when she saw him. With his bag slung over one shoulder, pulling his jacket all out of shape, Josh trotted down the last of the stairs and into the restaurant. He didn't notice her, which suited Donna fine. It gave her the chance to study him as he studied breakfast.

He looked tired, but didn't they all? It was just after six in the morning, for goodness sake. Which was early for Josh, she realized. He always wanted his wakeup call at five-forty-five, and never got downstairs before six-thirty. He looked a little pale, she thought, as he stood there staring at the breakfast bar. There were certainly rings under his eyes. Yeah, he definitely looked tired. And he was staring at the breakfast for a very long time, zoning out.

Figuring she'd gleaned all she could from just watching him, Donna decided that right now, in the early morning quiet, was the perfect time to make her approach. After that she could call Leo, tell him what she'd seen, and let him handle it from there. She'd have done her duty and new and old Donna could be reconciled. Picking up her purse, she made her way back to the breakfast bar and came to stand next to him. "Hey," she said quietly.

He didn't move, just kept staring at the pastry selection. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her.

"Josh?" Hesitantly she touched his arm.

His empty tray clattered to the floor, as he spun to face her. "What the-" He blinked. "Donna…? I didn't- Sorry, I was miles away."

"Some place nice?"

He just shook his head, bending to retrieve the tray. "You're up early."

"Oh, you know," she said, forcing a smile. "The early worm."

His eyebrows rose. "Catches the…bird?"

Damn. "It's early," she complained. Then nodded at the pastries. "You should get one of those before the horde of teenyboppers arrive and polish them off."

"We have a very experienced campaign staff ," he said, visibly bristling. "And this is pretty early in the day to be getting in digs about-"

"I was talking about the Russell staff." Donna offered him a hesitant smile. God knew it was more than he deserved. "I'm the only one over twelve."

"Oh." His lips pressed together and he picked up a Danish. "I thought it was just me, getting old."

"You've always been old, Josh," she said, following him to the coffee machine. "You were probably born in a suit and tie, reading a copy of the Post."

"You'd have to ask my mother." He didn't quite look at her as he said that, and his voice caught with a hint of… irritation? Hurt, perhaps? But she didn't want to know about that. Either way, his words immediately conjured up the image of his mother, and the way she'd sat holding his hand for hours in the hospital and-

"How is she? Your mom?"

He hesitated, frowned, and for a heart-stopping moment Donna thought something terrible had happened. But then he said, "I, uh, haven't spoken to her for a while. The campaign…"

"You're meant to phone her on Tuesdays."

"Yeah, well…" His mug now full of coffee, he picked up his tray and glanced at her over his shoulder. "Why are you following me? If you're after campaign secrets, don't think I'll weaken."

"We've seen the polling numbers, Josh. We really don't need to know what you're eating for breakfast."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his back to her. "Who cares about polling numbers? It's George Washington versus Lord Cornwallis all over again. We're a scrappy insurgency."

She joined him at the table. "You're a crappy what?"

He fixed her with an flat stare. "Seriously, what do you want? I could be doing something interesting. Like watching paint dry."

"It's charm like that that keeps the women flocking do your door, Josh."

He didn't answer, picked up his Danish, sniffed at it, and dropped it back onto his plate. Then he noticed something over her shoulder and smiled wryly. "Oh look. Mr. Cardboard himself. Shouldn't you be pandering to his every whim, instead of consorting with the enemy?"

"You're not the enemy," Donna said, rising to her feet. "And, for the record, we're not consorting."

Josh just pushed his plate away, and reached for his coffee. "Wow - is that a real Stetson he's wearing?"

What? In alarm, Donna spun around. Russell was striding across the lobby, Will in tow, but there wasn't a hat between them. When she turned back, Josh was smirking into his mug. "Funny," she said, then glanced at his untouched Danish. "You gonna eat that?"

"It smells bad ," he said, getting to his feet. "Have it if you want."

With that he left, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and prowling through the tables until he spotted a gaggle of Santos staff. His people, she thought with a pang.

Slowly she sat down again and picked at the Danish, which smelled and tasted just fine. She watched him talking to his staff, gesturing here and there as was his habit, and tried to see some sign of distress. It was hard to tell; Josh had barely spoken to her since she'd quit, and while he'd been defensive and prickly this morning she simply couldn't tell if that was due to anything more than campaign stress and the complications of their relationship. If you could still call it a relationship.

And that was a profoundly depressing thought with which to start the day.


	2. Out Here Alone

Josh sat in the front of the bus, grateful for the sunshine that gave him an excuse to wear shades. He'd glimpsed himself in the mirror this morning and knew he looked like crap. He needed a hair cut, there was something wrong with his razor that needed to be sorted out - only there was no one to sort out stuff like that anymore - and his bloodshot eyes looked like he'd been up drinking all night.

Well, that bit was true. Aside from the drinking.

Wearily he slipped his fingers under his glasses and rubbed at his dry, gritty eyes. He hated the swings through the south. It was always so damn uncomfortable. You were either too hot in the air that, he swore, was ninety percent humidity, or freezing your ass off in the refrigerators mistakenly called hotels. Not surprising he couldn't sleep.

He'd always hated the swings through the south, but for some reason this time was worse. Truth was, everything was worse this time. He was surrounded by amateurs - and that often included the Congressman - and there was no raw talent walking in off the street to make his life easier. He felt like he was holding the whole thing together with string and duct tape. And the people who could have helped him…

His anger still tasted bitter. Toby, that self-righteous son-of-a-bitch. Leaking information against him? The betrayal was breathtaking, staggering. He still couldn't comprehend it. Toby. Of all people! Toby, with his brilliant mind and high ideals… Why couldn't he see that Russell was the last person they should let succeed one of the century's greatest Presidents? Bingo-Bob could not be President Bartlet's legacy to the nation.

But he'd been jealous. Toby had been jealous because Josh hadn't brought him on board at the start, and so he'd tried to wreck his campaign. For what? Revenge? It was unconscionable. It was unbelievable. That smug, self-satisfied-

Something hot flared in the center of his chest; adrenalin, he could taste it. Flexing his hand, ignoring the bruise on his wrist, he stared out the window of the coach and watched the flat, featureless world go by. Relax, he told himself, relax. It was about as effective as telling himself to grow wings and take flight. Instead, he let his head sink back against the seat and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

When had life gotten this screwed up? If he knew the answer, he wasn't telling. But that didn't stop the same thoughts running constantly through his mind on an interminable playback loop.

Toby had abandoned him, and he'd stuck the knife in good. Sam was long gone, CJ was wrapped up in a job he'd thought might one day be his, and Donna- There was a brief flash of pain, rapidly smothered. He didn't think about Donna.

The point was, all of them, the old team, were gone. He was out here alone with a bunch of amateurs who watched him with cautious eyes and thought he was taking everything too seriously. This was a game for them, none of them expected to win. Only him. And he didn't expect it so much as need it. Desperately.

He needed to win, because that's what Josh Lyman did. They could stab him in the back, walk away without so much as a goodbye, but it didn't matter because he was Josh Lyman and he didn't need her. Them.

He didn't need any of them.

***

The morning was spent mostly talking about Cuba - at once trying to distance themselves from the White House's position, while simultaneously appearing loyal to the President. Not a high wire act that Bob Russell found easy, which meant he was irritable and snappy and Donna did her best to stay out of his way. Which, given her distracted state of mind, was probably a very good thing.

The conversation at breakfast replayed itself over and over in her mind, but she honestly couldn't say that something was definitely wrong. Neither could she say that everything was definitely okay. He seemed stressed, irritable and tired, and looked like he wasn't sleeping or eating right. So, as far as Josh was concerned, situation pretty much normal. The man lived on caffeine and adrenaline, she actually thought he enjoyed it. He got off on the buzz, she supposed.

Of course last time she'd known for sure. She'd watched him retreat into himself, watched him lose his humor, his patience, and eventually himself. But back then she'd been tuned to him, back then her life was his life and so the sour notes had rung like alarm bells. These days they could hardly be in the same room together, both bristling and feeling ill-used. So how could she possibly know what was going on inside his head? Leo was asking the impossible.

Then again, as he'd pointed out, she was the closest thing to a friend Josh had out here. She could hardly drop by the Santos headquarters and casually mention that their campaign manager might be having a breakdown. And as much as new Donna wanted to call Leo and wash her hands of it all, old Donna refused to let go. If something happened to him and she hadn't tried to help… Well, she just didn't want to go there.

So that was why, at about five in the afternoon, she managed to sneak away from the crowds and find a bench outside the hall where the campaign was holding its rally. She pulled out her cell and called a number that she probably should have deleted when she left the White House.

"Stanley Keyworth's office," came the crisp response.

Donna closed her eyes and told a white lie. "Hi, this is Donna Moss calling from Josh Lyman's office. I need a word with Dr. Keyworth."

"Please hold." There was a click and she listened deafly to the holding music, praying that no one would catch her in the middle of this deception. After an eternity, a man's voice said, "Hello Donna."

"Hi!" She tried not to sound too relieved, but suspected that her smile carried down the phone line. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"I'm not bothered. What can I do for you? Or Josh?"

Donna got to her feet and began to pace along the gravel path. "It's just a query really. Do you mind?"

"Shoot." He paused. "So to speak."

She laughed nervously. "I was wondering… Is it possible for someone to have a relapse? I mean, a post-traumatic stress relapse?"

"Is it possible? Yeah, it's possible. But in Josh's case… It's not likely."

A swell of relief brought the smile back to Donna's face. Thank God!

"It was very straight forward, dealt with early." He paused again. "Are you worried he's unwell?"

"No. No, someone else was, and I just thought I'd check, you know, if it might be something to look out for."

"It's always something to look out for," Stanley said. "Especially in people like Josh. While a relapse isn't likely in his case, if he were subjected to another traumatic event he'd be at a higher risk of developing symptoms again. We call that a recurrence."

"Okay," Donna nodded, returning to the bench and perching on the edge. The late afternoon sun was warm on her back, and she relished the heat. She felt free for the first time since Leo had called; Josh Lyman was, once more, not her problem. "There hasn't been another event, so I'm sure he's fine. Probably just the usual stresses of work and-"

"He doesn't have to have been the victim," Stanley interrupted, and Donna got the distinct impression he was sitting back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. "I've seen cases where second-hand trauma - such as disasters witnessed on TV - have caused former PTSD patients to suffer another episode."

Second hand…? A niggling pain shot down her right leg and she stood up to shake it off. "What about," she began hesitantly, "something that happened to someone he knew? Would that… Could that have the same effect, even if he wasn't there?"

"Sure. A loved one caught up in an act of random violence, for example, could be a powerful trigger in a case like Josh's. Especially if he was involved with the aftermath."

"The aftermath? You mean, like, in the hospital?"

"Yes, if it reminded him of his own time in hospital, if there were similarities, or even similarities with past traumas…" He paused, and in a more pointed tone added, "I'm sure you're aware that people who've suffered childhood trauma are at far greater risk of developing the disorder in the first place."

Oh God… She felt suddenly cold in the warm sunlight, and one arm wrapped involuntarily around herself as she clamped the phone to her ear. "Okay, thank you. I'm- I'm going to try and get him to call you."

"Okay," Stanley said. "And Donna?"

"Yes?"

"In the meantime, patience and honesty."

She almost laughed, although amused was the last thing she felt. Patience and honesty? In the current state of their relationship, both were in very, very short supply.

***

There was a place, just south of exhaustion, where adrenaline was the only thing that kept him on his feet. Josh had visited several times and he always knew he'd arrived when the twitches began to scuttle through his limbs. He felt wired, like his eyes were pinned wide open, his patience was whisper thin, and his skin seemed porous to all the stresses and irritations that surrounded him. In short, he was holding it together with nothing more than willpower and caffeine.

And it was only six in the evening. The night's festivities were only just beginning. He shouldered his way into the Radisson - or was it the Hyatt? Who the hell cared, they were all the same - and found his 'team' already ensconced close to the bar, which was typical.

He glanced once at the stairs and briefly toyed with the idea of crashing for an hour. Just to lie down, close his eyes and… What? Tie himself in knots worrying at the minutiae he might as well be discussing with his staff? Sleep was for wimps.

Instead he angled toward the Santos camp, keeping his eyes deliberately averted from the gaggle of Russell staff he noticed in the far corner of the bar. He didn't think she wasn't there, but he didn't want to look too closely, just in case. She'd poured enough salt in the wound this morning, with her faux-smiles and pseudo-banter. Josh had no idea what she'd been after, but he resented the hell out of her playing that card. She was kidding herself if she thought she could pretend nothing had changed.

"Hey Josh," Ronna said as he approached. "We thought we'd lost you."

She smiled nervously and he wondered if she was hoping they had. He hadn't exactly been chipper today. "Gotta try harder than that," he said, dropping his bag on the floor and slumping into an empty seat at the table. There were half-eaten plates of food everywhere and the smell of burned cooking oil turned his stomach. "So how far have you got?"

"We're just looking at the content of Thursday's speech."

He stared at her. "The…one that should have been done last night?"

"There wasn't time." A flash of irritation crunched her brow into a frown. "We were working until eleven."

For the love of- "We can't work on the speech tonight. We have to prep for the ACLU thing."

"We're doing the best we can, Josh. There are only so many hours in the day."

"Yeah, and they don't stop at eleven!" He scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Okay, you get on the ACLU prep, give me Thursday's speech and I'll see what Toby-" Damn, where had that come from? "I'll see what I can do with it."

"But you have to draft Matt's social security plan for the-"

"The Congressman's," he snapped. "The Congressman's social security plan, and yeah, I do. Thanks. Guess I've got a busy evening."

A brittle silence followed, he could feel it ripple out from the two of them to encompass the entire group. Dimly he thought that he should do or say something to cut the tension, but he really couldn't be bothered. If they couldn't hack the pace then too bad, they could always quit too. Avoiding looking any of them in the eye he reached into his bag and pulled out the rough draft of the social security plan. "Someone get this crap out of the way," he muttered, shoving at the plates. "And don't plan on leaving until we're done."

As far as pep talks went, it sucked, and that irritated him too. He used to be better at this, but then this used to be better. He used to get a buzz out of all-night sessions, out of molding and shaping policy, out of leading the charge toward a better America.

Now it just felt like a chore.

***

Donna's stomach rumbled when she stepped into the hotel bar and the aroma of French-fries hit her. She was starving! She could see Will and some of the kids filling a corner at the back of the room, all hard at work on tables strewn with plates and papers. She was on her way to join them when she caught site of the Santos camp. Slowing, she scanned the group and immediately spotted Josh. His head was in his hands, a pen in his mouth, and he was obviously reading something on the table. No one, she noticed, was smiling.

Stanley's words were still fresh in her mind, but as far as plans went she had nothing. What was she supposed to do? Walk over and suggest he call a shrink? Call him? She knew Josh, all he'd say would by 'yeah, okay' and hang up. And that would be that. No. Somehow she had to talk to him privately. Either that, or call Leo.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, but didn't pull out her phone. Leo was miles away, and she was right here. She couldn't duck this one, however difficult it might be.

Determined to push it from her mind until she'd finished work, she went over to join Will. He looked grateful to see her - glad to have someone past puberty to talk to, she suspected. "Hey," he said, "how did it go?"

"Oh fine," she smiled. "He agreed to cutting the Presidential seal gag."

"Really?" Will looked impressed, and Donna beamed.

"Really."

"I think you just earned a year's salary right there."

"Does that mean I get two?"

The smile vanished. "Don't push your luck, Moss."

With half a laugh, Donna sat down and reached for one of the fries on a nearby plate. "So what are we doing tonight?"

Will yawned. "I'm just polishing Thursday's speech," he said. "But other than that, we're good." He lifted an eyebrow. "You could, you know, go relax. Get some of that stuff called sleep. I hear it's good."

"Yeah, I think I remember that."

"Seriously," Will said. "Take the night off, you've earned it."

Munching on the fry, she didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted back to the Santos camp and she watched Josh rub both hands over his face, the way he did when he was too tired to think. Compared with Russell, Santos had far fewer staff - with far less experience. Add to that the fact that Josh was a compulsive micromanager when he didn't trust the people he was working with and she had a good idea of how much work he was piling onto his plate.

"He looks shattered," Will said.

Donna snapped her gaze away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "Who?"

"Josh?" Will lifted an eyebrow. "He looks shattered."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yeah…" Then he laughed, a little bleakly. "I bet he's regretting turning Russell down."

Donna stared at him. "The… He what?"

"Russell wanted him to run the campaign. So did Hoynes, from what I hear. He turned them both down."

Somewhere, deep down, she felt a switch flick and a light came on. Suddenly she got it. "I didn't know that," she said quietly, her eyes drifting back to Josh again. He was pushing half-full plates of food away from his work area with barely controlled irritation. "But it makes sense."

"Yeah," Will snorted, "for an egomaniac."

"He's not-" She cut off her instinctive defense; that wasn't her job anymore. Instead she gave a small smile and shrugged. "I guess he can be, but that's not why he turned it down."

"So why did he?"

"Well, you have to get Josh to get that."

"It's no secret he's not a fan of the VP."

"Yeah," she laughed, "that's true. But the thing is, Josh doesn't- Josh doesn't leave people. It's-"

A slice of memory cut into her mind; his face, exhausted, relieved, and so full of her. I'm still here…

She cleared her throat, her eyes suddenly pricking. "It's a…thing with him," she muttered, struggling to keep her voice even. "So for Josh to leave the White House - to leave the President - there's only one reason he'd do it."

"I'm willing to bet it's not the salary."

She smiled, despite the knot of pain inside. "He believes Matt Santos is the real thing."

"The real thing?"

"It's why he left Hoynes the first time."

Will gave her an odd look, difficult to interpret. "Sounds like you're accusing DC's sharpest operator of having principles."

"Yeah, that's the one thing he's always-"

"I said ACLU!" Josh's voice erupted from the other end of the room. "Are you actually illiterate? Or deaf, maybe? Or do you just not listen to a word I say?"

"You said-" A woman, dark haired and nervous, tried to answer back. In vain.

"Just give me the file," Josh snapped, snatching it out of her hands. But his impatient grab knocked a mug of coffee flying, sending half his staff scrambling to rescue their work from the flood.

There was a split second as Donna watched him - watched him jerk to his feet, watched him stand staring at the disaster in front of him - and in that split second she saw him snap. "Goddamn son of a bitch!" he yelled, flinging the file into the soggy mess. "What the hell is the matter with you people? You sit around stuffing your faces with this stinking crap -" Snatching up a handful of fries he threw them into the center of the table, sending a few more of his staff scattering "-and you never help me! You expect me to do this on my own? Is that what you expect, because I can't do this on my own! You have to help me, because I can't do this on my own. And you have to help me! I need you-" He broke off, sucking in short, shaking breaths and stared at them. "I need…"

No one said anything. Donna was pinned to the spot, as if a giant nail had been driven through her leg and was anchoring her to the chair. She wasn't even sure if she was breathing as she sat there watching him, feeling her heart being wrenched open. It was the first time she'd realized it had been closed all these months. Closed to him. But it was open now, open and aching, and she saw anew the thick ties that bound her to this man: loyalty, gratitude, friendship, and love. Unbreakable ties. Part of her wanted to run over, grab him by the arm and haul him to safety. Another part was too afraid to touch him, too afraid to move in case just that simple gesture shattered him.

Josh ran a shaking hand through his hair, still breathing heavily. "Okay…we need…we need to… get back to work."

His staff didn't move, half of them standing, a couple still trying to rescue documents from the coffee and French fries. At last the woman - Ronna, was it? - said, "I think we all need a few minutes."

Josh blinked, he looked like he was sleepwalking through a nightmare. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Donna couldn't stand it anymore, she couldn't just leave him hanging out there. She made a move to get up, to go to him, but just at that moment Josh turned on his heel and strode out of the room, through the doors and disappeared toward the elevators.

At her side, Will blew out a slow breath. "Wow, that was…"

"Yeah," Donna agreed.

"It's a lot of stress," Will said. "He must be under a lot of stress, I mean that really is a one man band he's running."

Donna nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He'd sounded so desolate. Utterly desolate. And she couldn't silence the quiet voice in her head that kept whispering 'You left him. You left him alone.'

Will's hand touched her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." But it was a lie; she was being ripped apart by her own divided loyalties. "No. No, not really."

She glanced up and met Will's eyes. He looked concerned, friendly, and offered a hint of a smile. "Maybe you should go see if he's okay? You know him better than… Well, better than anyone, I guess."

"I don't know," she said quietly. "He…we're not…"

Will nodded toward the Santos people. "I doubt any of them will go."

She followed his gaze and saw Josh's staff standing about talking quietly. There were lots of shaking heads and outraged faces. Because they didn't know Josh, they didn't know that that wasn't him. They were angry, and on the face of it who could blame them?

"He might not want to talk to me," she said.

"He might," Will's smile was stronger now. "You can be very persuasive."

"Yeah?" Maybe he was right. She wasn't the old Donna, she was the new Donna who, just today, had convinced the Vice President of the United States that his standard opening 'joke' was as stale as two week old gum. And she knew Josh. Things might have changed on the surface, but not in fundamentals. She knew him, and she'd make him let her in and make him listen. "Yeah," she said more confidently, "I am very persuasive."

Without a backward glance she strode over to Santos's people. They watched her arrival with obvious suspicion, which she tried to allay with a smile. "Hey," she said, addressing herself to the woman Josh had been berating. "You're Ronna, right?"

Ronna nodded, her face miles away from a smile. "Look, if you think you're going to make some kind of political capital out of what you just-"

"No," Donna assured her instantly. "No. I was just…" She glanced down and saw Josh's backpack on the floor. Picking it up, she said, "My name's Donna Moss. I'm a…friend of Josh's. We worked together at the White House."

"I know who you are," Ronna said, her eyes fixed on the pack. "And you can't take that. It has confidential campaign information inside."

"Listen," Donna said, "I need you to tell me Josh's room number. It's important."

Ronna laughed humorlessly. "If I told you that, he'd rip my head off - physically, instead of verbally."

"No. He won't," Donna said, taking her by the arm and leading her to one side. In a very quiet voice she said, "Look, what happened tonight? That wasn't Josh. I can't… I really can't say more, but there's a thing going on and I really, really need to see him." It was only as she verbalized it that Donna realized how true it was. She had to see him. Right now. "Please," she added, aware of the shake in her voice. "I just need to make sure he's okay tonight."

Ronna's face opened and was suddenly full of concern. "Really? He's not…? Um, okay. It's 428."

"Thank you," Donna said, trying to hide the depth of her relief. "And I'll take his bag - he'll want it and, I swear, campaign secrets are literally the last thing on my mind."

Ronna laughed a gallows laugh. "I've probably already lost my job, so what the hell?"

"Don't worry about your job." Donna offered the woman the best smile she could manage under the circumstances. "He'll probably send you flowers in the morning."

She didn't have time for more reassurances. Josh's pack was heavy and familiar in her hands, and it provoked too many mixed emotions for her to attempt to reconcile as she headed out of the bar and toward the elevators.

For better or for worse, tonight she and Josh were going to have a conversation. It scared her to death, but at the same time she felt as though her life had suddenly exploded into Technicolor after months living in black and white. She didn't pause to analyze what that might mean, just screwed up her courage and hit the button for the fourth floor.


	3. Out Here Alone

The only sound was the bathroom tap running as Josh cupped his hands under the water and splashed it over his face, again and again. Trying to wake himself up, or wash himself away.

He couldn't be doing this again. He couldn't be doing this again. Not now.

Grabbing a towel, he pressed it over his face and tried to blot out the past half hour, tried to forget the eruption that had ripped through him like a force of nature, unstoppable and destructive. But he couldn't forget, because he was still shaking, he still felt sick, and the whole damn room still stank of burning food - even with the windows wide open and the sticky Florida heat creeping in like fog.

The towel dropped to the bathroom floor and Josh found himself staring at his own reflection.

This couldn't be right.

This couldn't be him. This crippled excuse for a mind, weak and twisting in on itself, couldn't be him. It wasn't him. He didn't recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, didn't recognize the sallow skin or the dark eyes staring back at him. Because the thoughts racing through his head couldn't be his; the aimless, unrelenting rage that burned in his chest, the constant drip-feed of adrenalin that refused to let him rest, the noise in his head. The constant noise in his head that made it impossible to think or hear, or be heard.

It was like living in a void, a blank space beyond the reach of people who used to be friends. People who had abandoned him out here, alone. And yet it was suffocating; the noise and the dark chaotic thoughts pressed in all around and only the silence of the vacuum kept them at bay. But it wouldn't last. Eventually, he knew, the pressure would shatter the walls of the bell jar.

And then what?

Then nothing. Then darkness, then a spiraling road that lead down and down. He'd traveled it before, and he could see it beneath him now, feel himself teetering on the edge like debris caught on the fringes of a whirlpool. And the only thing keeping him safe was the void, the absence of thought and feeling.

And the anger. The anger was the thin line that anchored him to the shore, without it there'd be nothing left but darkness and the constant surge of adrenalin; it felt like a water balloon popping in the center of his chest, a gunshot that flared out like liquid heat. Over, and over, and over again.

He felt sick with a shapeless, nervous energy. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't work. He couldn't sit still. Everything grated, everything was noise. And no one was listening.

There was no one left to listen anymore.

***

The corridor was silent and stifling. No one was about, a few room-service trays set out for the staff to clear away were the only evidence that anyone was staying in the hotel.

But the silence was just a sham, for behind all those closed doors who knew what dramas were being played out? Not Donna, but then she only cared about what was going on behind one door - room 428, the one she'd been standing, staring at for the past five minutes.

She hefted her own bag, and Josh's, over one shoulder and lifted her hand, for the tenth time, to knock. And, for the tenth time, she stopped. A year ago, while not exactly being easy, she'd at least have been starting from a position of trust. He'd trusted her then, trusted her absolutely. But now…? Not so much. Not at all, if she was honest. And she couldn't blame him, not really. Not for that.

She'd left him, and in Josh's book there was nothing more unpardonable than disloyalty. She'd known that, known what she was throwing away even as she'd walked out of his office for the last time. She hadn't had a choice, but she hadn't acted blindly. She'd understood the consequences.

Still, it was something she'd been skirting around all these months, hiding her growing self-reproach behind genuine disillusionment and disappointment. He had held her back, he had abused her loyalty - and she had left him. Without a goodbye, or a thank you. She'd just gone.

And although she didn't regret leaving, she was beginning to suspect that there had been more bitterness than necessity in her method. She'd wanted to hurt him, to exact some kind of revenge for her own sense of betrayal, and she was sure she'd succeeded. She knew him too well to doubt that; she knew his vulnerabilities too intimately. And she was ashamed of having exploited them - profoundly ashamed.

And perhaps that, more than any other reason, was why she was here tonight. To make amends, if possible. To offer a truce. Taking a deep breath, Donna knocked on the door. Loudly, determinedly. He was going to resist, so she might as well be firm from the outset.

There was no answer - she hadn't expected one on the first attempt - so she knocked again. Louder. This time, after a long wait, she thought she heard movement behind the door. She fixed her eyes on the peephole and tried to look friendly. When there was still no answer she rapped on the door again and called out, "Josh, let me in before I call reception and get them to do it!"

She could almost hear him muttering angrily but, after another lengthy pause, the door cracked open. "If you're with the Jehovah's Witnesses, I should tell you-"

"Josh, let me in."

"Is there a problem with your own room?"

She cocked her head. "You want to have this discussion in the hall?"

His lips pressed into a defeated line and he stepped back, retreating into his room. Donna closed the door behind her and glanced around. It was dark and hot, even though the AC was blasting out of the vents. A breeze from outside stirred the curtains and a sudden fear hit her between the eyes.

"What happened to the window?"

It wasn't exactly a subtle introduction of a sensitive subject.

Josh was standing about as far from her as the small room would allow, his back to her. But at her words he turned around, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and smiled grimly. "I didn't break it, if that's what you think."

Donna winced. "I didn't. I meant- It's open, and you have the AC running. That's not very environmentally friendly."

"You're here to preach ecology?"

She reached over and slid the thermostat up until the AC turned itself off. "It's hot in here."

Josh shrugged. "I can't get rid of the smell."

She couldn't smell anything, but let that slide for the time being. Instead, she held out his backpack. "You left this downstairs."

If possible his wan face paled further, turning positively ashen. "You… You were down there?"

"Yeah."

He didn't say anything to that, just stared at her. Lost. He looked so lost, she thought, and the ache in her chest intensified. "Josh? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Josh…"

"Nothing's going on!" He almost laughed the denial.

"You were yelling at your staff, Josh. You threw fries at them."

He blinked. "It's nothing."

Donna took a step forward and, even though the width of the bed separated them, Josh took a step back.

"What about Toby?" she said.

All traces of humor vanished, his face turning flat and angry. "What about him?"

Donna carefully put his bag down on the bed. "Leo told me-"

"Leo?" He shook his head, pacing toward the coffee machine perched on the dresser. "So much for loyalty." With fumbling fingers he began to make coffee. Caffeine, Donna thought, was probably the last thing he needed. "Is that why you're here? Did Leo send you?"

Donna considered her answer for a moment, then said, "No."

Josh glanced up. "Are you lying to me again?"

"I've never-" The protest died on her lips, killed by the memory of his arm around her shoulder that cold, dark night as they waited together. "I'm not lying, Josh."

He stared at her for a moment, then said, "So why are you here?"

"Josh, you hit Toby. In the White House. And I wanted to-"

"I didn't hit Toby!" Josh snapped. "Is that what Leo said? It's not true. I- He- He's a selfish, disloyal bastard. He was trying to wreck my campaign just because-" Suddenly he was laughing, although it was one of the bleakest sounds Donna had ever heard. "Toby leaking against me, and you-"

He stopped, staring down at the top of the dresser where the coffee machine had started burbling to itself. One hand rested there, his fingers tapping lightly on the wood as if he was beating time to a silent, anxious tune.

"Josh, I didn't-"

"Why are you here?" he snapped, not looking at her.

It was actually a good question. If she wasn't here because Leo had asked her to look out for him, then there had to be another reason. Patience and honesty, Stanley had advised. Easier said than done. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Josh smiled bitterly, shaking his head as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Donna noticed his hands were trembling when he picked up the mug and retreated to the far side of the bed again. "Why?"

"Because of what happened with Toby, and because-"

"Is this… Did Will send you? Is this some kind of opposition research thing, because-"

"No one sent me, Josh!" Frustration made her words sharper than she'd intended and she saw him flinch, as if every muscle had drawn just that little bit tighter. "This isn't about politics," she said, more quietly. "I'm here because… because I care."

"That's a good one," he snorted. "But you really need to work on your comic timing."

"Josh…"

"You don't care!" he barked. "Don't pretend you do."

"I know what this is," she said, struggling to hold onto to both her patience and her honesty. "You think that because I-"

"Left."

"Because I got a new job-"

"You didn't get a new job!" He almost spat the words. "You walked out. You just…left me!"

"Because I got a new job! Did you really think I'd spend the rest of my life answering your phones?"

"It wasn't because you got a new job." His knuckles were turning white where he was throttling the coffee mug. "Did you imagine, for a moment, that I didn't know exactly what you did? You left me, Donna. And then you got a new job."

It was true, and the fact that he knew that... She shouldn't have been surprised, he could find out anything he wanted, but the fact that he'd gone to those lengths said something about the strength of his feeling; the strength of his anger. "I didn't have a choice," she said, guilt and doubt making her defensive. "You never would have given me the opportunities Will has."

"What?" His contempt was so ripe she could taste it. "The opportunity to whore yourself on a campaign to elect Will Bailey's puppet? A cardboard candidate with the intellectual capacity of a trout? Yeah, you're right, I'd never have let you do that!"

She felt herself go white with anger. Felt the blood drain from her face. "No, you'd have let me take messages and carry your coat for the rest of my career."

"That's not what you did!"

"It is! You didn't even see it Josh, you didn't even see me! I was your doormat Josh, and you didn't even notice!"

He stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief. "That's not…that's not how it was."

"You think I don't know how it was, Josh? For seven years being your lackey, watching you ignore me, walk all over me, exploit me!"

"I was your boss!" he yelled. "It was your job. The job I gave you. The job that taught you everything, the job-"

"That tied me to that stupid desk, that stupid computer and your stupid schedule! For seven years! Until you forced me out the door and-"

"I didn't." He was pacing back and forth, shaking his head.

"You wouldn't listen-"

"I didn't make you go." Lips pressed tight together, he kept shaking his head. Kept pacing.

"You never took me seriously and I-"

"I didn't make you go!" He spun around, suddenly ferocious. "I didn't do that!" His arm jerked back, coffee went flying - "I didn't make you go back in there!" - and he pitched the mug right at her.

Donna jumped out of the way, felt a tepid spray of coffee against her face, before the mug shattered against the wall behind her head.

The sound of breaking china shocked the room into a deathly silence. All she could hear was Josh's ragged, frantic breathing. All she could see, the only thing she could see, was his horrified face - ashen and appalled. He just stared at her, and she stared back, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

His arms hung limp at his side. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, looked like he hadn't smiled in months, and she wondered bleakly if this was her doing. Had she done this to him?

Then his words sank in, words yelled in anguish that didn't make much sense. But she got Josh, she always had, and she understood.

I didn't make you go back in there!

He wasn't talking about her. At least, not just her. He was talking about his sister too, and Toby, and all the others who'd left him one way or another. All the others for whom he'd felt responsible. Tears pricked her eyes and a band of remorse tightened across her chest. He blamed himself, he always blamed himself, and here she was, blaming him.

She should have known better. She did know better.

His head dropping to his chest. He seemed incapable of more than that. His voice, when he spoke, was a harsh whisper. "You should go."

Donna straightened her shoulders. "No."

His jaw worked, one hand wiped across his mouth. "Please…" She'd never heard him so defeated, so ashamed.

It only hardened her resolve. "I'm not leaving."

His head seemed to sink further, as if he were closing in on himself. "I don't want-" Abruptly he turned and sank onto the edge of the bed, head in hands. Muffled through his fingers, he muttered, "I could have hurt you."

"You didn't." She tried to sound bright, but it felt too forced. Probably sounded that way too. Giving up on that, she took a step closer and said, "I'm not leaving you like this."

"I'll be fine." The lie was transparent.

"No," she replied, taking another step closer. "You don't get it, Josh. I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving you. I never-" Her voice faltered, but she ploughed on regardless. "Leaving the job was the hardest - the hardest - thing I've ever done. But I never- I was angry, I was confused, hurt…" His head sank further into his hands, fingers raking through his hair. She ached to connect with him, but didn't dare touch him; words were the only way to reach him now. "The thing is, Josh, I never left you. I tried. I wanted to leave you behind, but I couldn't. I missed you every day, I thought about you all the time. I didn't leave," her hand pressed against her chest, even though he couldn't see her, "not in here, Josh. I never left you, I swear."

His head turned away from her, one hand swiping at his eyes. It almost broke her heart and she moved closer, until she was no more than a couple of feet away.

"I," he said huskily, "I keep… Everything smells like burned popcorn. Funny, huh? How the mind works."

Cautiously, as if she were approaching a cornered lion, Donna perched next to him on the bed. He didn't object, but he didn't turn around either. "Maybe you should call someone?"

"Like who? Orville Redenbacher's?"

"Josh…"

He sucked in a shaky breath and scrubbed his hands over his face again. "Did you call Stanley?"

After everything, that made her smile. Evidence, at last, that the root-deep connection between them was still there, buried under a mountain of 'stuff', but still there. "I did."

"Did you…pretend you were still working for me?"

Her smiled broadened slightly. "I did."

He said nothing, but there was something about the way his shoulders slumped, a loosening of the tension, like a coiled spring unwinding, that provoked her to reach out a tentative hand and touch his back. Josh went stock-still for a moment, and then - miraculously - he turned slightly toward her. Donna didn't move her hand, just let it rest on his shoulder as she said, "He told me that experiencing a trauma second hand could sometimes trigger a recurrence."

"Second hand?" he echoed.

"Gaza, Josh."

Again his head dropped, but this time she could see his face - see his eyes screwed tight, the way he struggled to keep it all together - and it was too much for her. It was simply too much. Heedless of the consequences she leaned forward and pulled him to her, slipping her arms around his neck and holding him tight. "Josh," she whispered close to his ear. And that seemed to be enough, because suddenly he was clinging to her too, burying his face in the crook of her neck and just holding on. Just holding on.

After a couple of unsteady breaths he spoke, his words muffled against her hair. "I thought you were gone. When I saw the car upside-down on the TV, and then in the hospital they said- And then you were gone and I- I just couldn't…"

"I know," she murmured, stroking his back, comforting as best she could. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" Somehow her hand found its way to his neck, where his hair curled against his collar, and vaguely she thought that old Donna would have pulled away, kept her distance. But she wasn't old Donna, she was new Donna, and she let her fingers thread through his hair, let them caress his warm skin.

He just held her tighter. "It was my fault," he whispered harshly. "I sent you there, I made you go-"

"No." She pulled away, seizing his face in both hands. "It wasn't your fault."

"I sent you, I-"

"Did you plant the bomb? Did you detonate it?"

His eyes darted away from her, but not for long. "No."

"Did you think - for even a second - that the CODEL would be a target?"

"It's…the Middle East."

"Josh?"

He offered a tiny, weak smile. "I didn't. Guess I was wrong."

She returned his smile with one of her own, watery and shaky, but still a smile. "I guess you were."

"About a lot of things."

Donna just pulled him back into her arms and he went willingly, holding her and being held, and it felt good. It felt so good. It was like coming home. "When did you last eat?" she asked eventually, not letting go.

"I…had a thing at lunch."

"What kind of thing?"

"Donut."

"That was the last thing you ate today?"

He shifted in her embrace, tucking his head tighter against her shoulder. "I'm not hungry. This is good, just right here."

Donna smiled, the broadest smile she'd smiled in weeks. "I'm hungry," she said, "and so are you."

With a little effort she pulled out of his arms, but didn't go far. His hands trailed down and somehow found themselves linking with hers. "Did you talk to Ronna?" he asked awkwardly. "Downstairs?"

"Yeah. She'll be okay. Oh, you need to send her flowers in the morning."

His eyebrows lifted and he glanced at her from beneath them. "I do?"

"Yeah. She's kind of expecting it."

"'Kay."

Donna smiled again, squeezed his hands, then stood up. "I'm going to order us turkey sandwiches and cheesecake," she decided. "And you…" She glanced around the room and found his overnight bag half unpacked in the corner. It took a moment of rummaging around inside the case before she found what she was looking for. "You are going to take a shower and get changed."

Josh was on his feet by then, as fragile as blown glass. "Donna, you don't have to do this. It's not…your job anymore."

She stood up and smiled softly. "It was never my job, Josh."

There was a moment of confusion before his eyes widened and he said, "Right."

"Here." Donna tossed over his t-shirt and boxers. "You want a beer too?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said, nodding toward the bathroom. "You've got half an hour before the food gets here."

He just stared at her, clutching his clothes against his chest. "So you're…staying?"

Donna wasn't sure if her heart was melting or overflowing at the hesitant, hopeful way he asked. It didn't matter, she felt herself grinning with unreserved affection. "Yeah," she said. "I'm staying."

He smiled back, a brittle smile, but a genuine one, and walked around the bed. As he passed her he paused, and in a quiet voice said, "I've missed you."

Her heart beat a little unexpected tattoo at his frank admission, and she reached out to graze his arm with her fingers. "Me too. Even more than I'd imagined."

Their eyes locked for a moment and something fleeting passed between them. Something old, something new. Something undeniable, even when it was hidden beneath layers of misunderstanding, hurt, and anger. Something that had never gone away.

He smiled again, so did she, and then he disappeared into the bathroom and Donna found herself feeling happier than she had in months. In years.

For the first time in too long she could breathe again, and it made her want to laugh.


	4. Out Here Alone

Josh felt shaky, like he'd been patched together with Scotch tape and was in danger of falling apart at the slightest knock. Having said that, at least he was together - more together than he'd been in days - and that felt…not exactly good, but hopeful. Yeah, hopeful.

He let the shower run as hot as he could bear, let it pummel away the grit and grime that seemed to coat him, and he realized he could smell the fresh, strong scent of soap for the first time in days. It was like waking up after a nightmare, shucking off the sludge that had clogged his mind, and realizing that he was still there underneath it all.

That she was still there.

He smiled, actually smiled, at the thought of her. How long had it been since the thought of Donna Moss had made him smile instead of flinch in pain? Seven months and two weeks, give or take a day. And yet, until that moment, he'd never understood how central she'd been to his happiness - a focal point for it, in a way. She'd shared all his triumphs, consoled him in all his failures. Cheered him up, calmed him down. Been there, at the heart of everything. And when she'd gone he'd been left drifting like a ship without a keel, prone to capsize at the first sign of a storm. Which is exactly what had happened, and if she hadn't come back… He had no doubt, no doubt at all what his fate would have been.

He'd already been drowning when she found him.

Turning off the shower he stood dripping for a moment, lost in thought. If she was his keel, shouldn't he - to extend the metaphor - have been the wind in her sails? Shouldn't he have been urging her to race onward, faster and faster?

He should have, but he hadn't. She was right about that, he'd held her back. He'd wanted to bind her to him, because he'd known he couldn't make it out here without her. He knew it now, more than ever.

Thoughtfully, he reached for a towel and began to dry off. He knew other things now too. He knew that, while he'd never find anyone as efficient as Donna, he didn't need her to answer his phones or manage his schedule. That had never been what he needed, it had only ever been the method of keeping her close. What he needed was her smile, her presence, her comfort, her laughter, her friendship. What he needed was her.

And he was certain he couldn't get through another day without her.

He rubbed the towel over his hair, pulled on his t-shirt and boxers, and glanced in the mirror. Luckily it was steam-fogged so he didn't have to look too closely. He was sure his hair was a mess, however, and raked his hands through it. Then he turned to the door, and hesitated.

Donna was out there, and the very thought brought joy to his heart. But at the same time he had no clue - no idea at all - what was going on. She'd held him, whispered his name, stroked his back, toyed with his hair and, God, it had felt incredible. He physically ached to have her back in his arms again and to just hold her. To just be held. But he didn't know where the boundaries were anymore and he was afraid, terrified, of screwing up this miraculous second chance.

Through the thin bathroom door he heard voices. Donna, talking to the room-service guy. It meant that dinner had arrived and to his utter surprise he realized that he was, in fact, hungry. Hoping that he could at least eat without screwing up, he blew out a quick, nervous breath and pushed open the door.

He was met by a blast of chilled air. "Donna! It's freezing!" Great! First words out of his mouth? A complaint.

She rolled her eyes and said, "I closed the windows and put the AC back on. It's seventy eight degrees, Josh."

He was about to say more when he was suddenly struck by two things. The first was that Donna had apparently gone back to her room and changed - her suit had disappeared in favor of PJs, a sweatshirt and fluffy socks. The second thing was that she was turning down the sheets on one side of the bed.

His bed!

"What are you doing?" His voice came out semi-strangled.

She just smiled. "Get in, if you're cold."

He didn't get in. He didn't move. He just stood there watching as she went over and started futzing with a tray of food, and tried to get to grips with the fact that Donna had just told him to get into bed.

It was the stuff of dreams.

When she turned around, she held a plate in each hand. "Get in," she said, scrambling up onto the bed to sit cross legged on the other side from him. On top of the covers.

Wondering if exhaustion had finally gotten the better of him and he'd fallen asleep in the shower, Josh slid into bed, pulled the covers over his legs, and reached for one of the plates. Turkey salad, with mayo. And cheese. He glanced at her. "Where's the tasteless vinaigrette-lite?"

Donna took a bite and shrugged. "It's a one off," she warned. "Don't get used to it." And didn't that imply that they might be doing this again?

He smiled. "I'll make the most of it."

"You better." Saying that, she reached over, switched on the TV and grabbed the remote. Pummeling a couple of pillows into obedience, she scooted back until she was sitting next to him, back resting against the headboard, legs crossed and her plate balanced on one knee. "There has to be something on," she said, flicking through the channels.

"Oh, that's CNN-"

"No news," Donna announced, still hopping channels. "The object, Josh, is for you to relax and then sleep. I don't want you ranting at the TV."

"I don't rant at-"

She fixed him with a pointed look.

"Okay. No news."

At last she stopped flicking and settled on an old black-and-white movie. A classic, she claimed, but he didn't really care. He'd have been happy to watch anything with her sitting next to him like this, one arm occasionally brushing his, her presence just filling the room. He finished the sandwich, drained the beer, and felt himself start to relax for the first time in… Oh, who knew? Since she'd left him, he supposed.

He stretched out a little, edging slightly closer in the process, and yawned. He was actually beginning to feel sleepy, which was little short of a miracle. Usually the adrenaline kept him wide awake and exhausted all at the same time. "This is nice," he said, glancing over at her and stifling a yawn.

She met his look with a soft smile. "Yeah. Like old times."

Her words hung between them in a poignant silence. He was the first to look away. "Was it… Was it always that bad?" he said at last, staring unseeing at the TV. "I mean, did you feel like a doormat the whole time you-"

"No." Her voice was full of emotion. "I didn't mean- It wasn't always like that, Josh. Mostly it was…" She hesitated, and he looked over again. That self-conscious, unsure smile he remembered so well was playing over her lips. "Mostly it was amazing."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was. I thought it was."

She looked up, caught his gaze and smiled. He smiled back, feeling a lump grow tight in his throat. He wanted to say more, he wanted to tell her what he'd figured out about how much she meant to him, but he didn't dare try in case it undid all the Scotch tape that was holding him together. And he was so tired - rung out like an old dish rag. He had nothing left to give her tonight.

"You should sleep," she said quietly.

He nodded, his eyelids already growing heavy as he slid down further under the covers. He heard her switch off the TV, listened to the quiet clink of plates being set to one side, sensed a light being switched off. And there was a sudden coldness inside, knowing that she was leaving. He wanted her to stay, he wanted to hold her while he slept, but he couldn't ask that of her.

The bed dipped as she came to sit on the edge, next to him. "I should go," she said.

Josh opened his eyes, and in the soft light of the bedside lamp he thought she looked luminous. Beautiful. He didn't ask her to stay, he had no right to ask, but Donna knew him soul-deep. She hesitated for a moment, as if having some kind of internal dialogue, and then reached out and brushed her fingers across his forehead and into his hair. "You've been having nightmares?"

"A few."

Again, another pause. For the first time all evening she seemed unsure of herself. "I could… I could stay for a little?"

He didn't answer, couldn't find the words. Instead he just moved over, pulled back the blankets and made room for her to lie down. She did, curling up with her back against his chest, lacing her fingers with his as he hugged her close and buried his face in her soft hair.

He was asleep in thirty seconds.

***

Donna hadn't meant to stay all night. Her intention had been to wait until he was asleep and then leave, put a little space between them, and try to get a handle on her galloping emotions. But he'd held her so tight, so close, and it had felt so right that she hadn't wanted to move, not even when she'd heard his breathing slow and deepen into sleep.

A few minutes longer, she'd told herself as she'd switched off the lamp, a few minutes longer. She'd felt so warm and comfortable, so peaceful. And her eyes had felt so heavy and she'd just let them close for a moment when…

…the phone on the nightstand rang. Disorientated, Donna fumbled for it and picked up. "Uh?" she mumbled into the receiver.

"Good morning, this is your five-forty-five wake up call."

How was that possible? On the third attempt she got the phone back into the cradle, turned her head to the side and realized she was nose-to-nose with Josh. He looked a little bleary, a little mussed. And altogether adorable. He was blinking at her in astonishment, and after a moment said, "You're still here."

She smiled sleepily. "Yeah. I'm still here."

"It's morning?"

She chuckled softly. "How did you sleep?"

"Is it really morning? I feel like I went to sleep two minutes ago."

Donna rolled onto her back and switched on the lamp, squinting at the sudden brightness. "It's morning," she assured him. "Ten 'til six."

He sat up, scrubbing his hands through his hair, all crumpled and delicious looking. Vaguely she wondered when she'd gone from affectionate concern for his welfare to thinking he looked delicious first thing in the morning, but decided that it wasn't worth exploring. Her feelings for Josh had always been so complex and intertwined that there was no beginning or end to any of them.

That had always been half the problem.

He looked down at her and smiled. It was a more confident smile than yesterday, almost a little cocky. "So, this is nice."

It was, she couldn't deny it. "We should do this again sometime."

"We should." His smile broadened, definitely cocky. It was good to see, after last night.

"But now," Donna said, glancing at the clock. "You should take a shower. I'll make some coffee."

He went suddenly still and she knew what he was remembering. Sitting up, she rubbed a hand across his back. "Go on," she said quietly. "Or you'll be late."

He looked at her over his shoulder, and she could see the cracks from yesterday. Not healed yet, just papered over. "If I'd hurt you…"

"Shhhh," she said, resting her head against his shoulder. "Don't think about it."

"But if I had-"

"Are you going to call Stanley today?"

There was a little pause, and then, "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," she agreed, lifted her head and patted his shoulder again. "Shower, shave. Coffee."

With a nod and a sigh he pushed himself out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. She heard the shower start running as she made coffee and put in a quick call to Will, telling him she'd be a few minutes late. To his credit, he didn't ask why.

By the time the bathroom door opened again, Donna was pouring coffee. When she glanced up she saw Josh in the mirror, watching her. His shirt was still un-tucked, tie missing, hair damp, and he was smiling. She smiled back and watched as he walked toward her, closer and closer until she turned around to face him. His tie, she noticed, was curled up next to the coffee pot and she picked it up, her fingers twisting nervously in the soft fabric.

"Hey," she said.

He just gazed at her, right into her. "I wanted to say thank you," he said, "but it doesn't really seem enough."

She smiled and reached out to flip up his collar, passing his tie around his neck. "You don't need to thank me."

"I want to."

Her fingers tied the tie deftly, unthinkingly. "I'm glad we straightened things out a little."

"You're amazing," he said, as if she hadn't spoken at all.

Embarrassed, Donna shook her head. "Josh…"

"I've always thought you were amazing."

Her face was flushing pink, she could feel it as she tightened his tie. "Flattery will get you a long way but-"

"It's the truth. I just never told you before. You're the most amazing person I've ever known."

She laughed at that, at the earnest expression in his eyes and at the nonsense he was speaking. "Josh," she said, straightening his collar, "you know the President, you know Leo, CJ…"

"Your point?"

She smiled and shook her head. "You can be very sweet sometimes." And then, because she was new Donna, not old Donna, she reached over to kiss him on the cheek. Only something went wrong. He moved, or she moved, and her kiss went awry, ending up just brushing the edge of his lips.

It froze them both.

Her hands still rested on his shoulders, but she wasn't laughing now. In fact, she was barely breathing. He was so close she could smell the scent of soap on his skin, feel his short, heated breaths against her mouth. And then slowly, cautiously, he moved just enough for his lips to touch hers. Really touch hers in a soft kiss.

It was dizzying, electrifying. Inevitable. She leaned into him, eyes drifting shut, and the only thing in her world was the slow rhythm they were building together. His hand rested on her hip, then her back, the other tangling in her hair and pulling her closer. Deeper. Right into him... Then suddenly he broke the kiss and buried his face against her shoulder, tugging her into his arms and holding her tight. In an urgent, husky voice he said, "Donna don't- Please don't…"

Don't leave me out here alone.

She knew he couldn't say it, but he didn't need to. "I won't," she whispered, hugging him as hard as she could. "I won't, Josh. I promise."

He didn't answer, just kissed her again. A fierce, hungry kiss that left her hot and wanting when it eventually came to a lingering end. He didn't let her go though, which was just as well because her legs were decidedly shaky, but moved just far enough away that he could look into her eyes. "You're beyond amazing."

"You're pretty impressive yourself."

He just shook his head. "When can we…? Can I see you tonight?"

Tonight? Her heart sank. "We're heading to South Carolina this morning."

Josh closed his eyes in frustration. "I'd forgotten it was Tuesday," he said. "We're heading out too."

"Staying at the Charleston Sheraton?" Donna asked innocently.

His disappointment was scattered by a grin, a bright, wonderful grin that sent her stomach flip-flopping. "Maybe," he said. "I'll have to check."

Donna made a show of straightening his shirt and tie again. "Well, if you're not too tired when you get in…" She glanced up, half-shy and half-playful. "Give me a call. We could have a late dinner."

"That sounds perfect." He smiled again, less dazzling but more affectionate, and leaned down to kiss her tenderly. "You're perfect."

"You know that's not true."

"You're perfect for me."

She smiled again. "Maybe we're perfect for each other?"

He laughed, pressed a final, teasing kiss to her lips, and stepped back. Nodding toward the door he said, "I have a breakfast meeting, so I should go before - you know - one of us falls into a diabetic coma."

"Hey," she protested, picking up her coffee and taking a sip, "you're the one bringing all the sugar."

"You'd better believe that's not all I can bring."

With a grin, she threw a packet of NutraSweet at him. "Go to work."

***

Ronna sat nervously at breakfast, re-reading the notes she'd made for the ACLU thing, plus her 'polished' version of Thursday's speech. Not to mention the rough draft of the social security plan which she'd rescued from the coffee disaster of the previous evening. No doubt they wouldn't meet Josh Lyman's impossible standards, but she'd been up all night and tried her best and if that wasn't good enough then screw him. He could fire her.

She was a smidgen away from quitting anyway. Temperamental, political geniuses were one thing, she could deal with those. But violent and abusive egomaniacs? Not so much.

Her stomach was churning as she sipped her coffee, partly through nerves and partly from lack of sleep, but when she saw Josh sauntering through the lobby it started to spin like a washing machine. She really couldn't work like this! He saw her immediately and, to his credit, looked extremely chagrined as he made his way over to where she sat. For a moment he just stood next to her table in silence, then with a little nod at the empty chair said, "Can I sit down?"

"Sure." She hoped she sounded cool and aloof, not nervous as hell. "I, uh, did that work you needed on the ACLU thing and tried to-"

"I owe you an apology," he said, talking right over her. "The way I behaved yesterday was inexcusable." He smiled slightly and she thought it was probably the first time she'd seen him smile. It suited him. "It was inexcusable, but I'm going to give you an excuse anyway - I was stressed out, tired. Hadn't been sleeping. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she heard herself saying, although she wasn't entirely sure that it was okay. Still, Donna Moss had hinted that there might have been more going on, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Talking of whom… "Um," she said, "I hope it was okay that I gave Donna your room number last night?"

Suddenly he grinned. It was so shocking she almost slipped off her chair; the man had dimples! Who'd have thought? "Yeah, that was- That was fine," he smiled. "Actually, it was great."

Ronna felt her eyebrows climb. "Okay. I wasn't sure because-"

His phone rang and he turned away. "Yeah?" Suddenly the grin was back, tenfold. "Hey… No, hang on, let me check." He looked over at her. "Hotel in Charleston?"

"Sheraton."

"Yeah, Sheraton," he beamed into the phone. "Okay, I'll call from the bus. You know, I was thinking…" He turned even further away, his voice dropping, and Ronna decided it was best not to listen. Instead, she let her gaze drift around the lobby, which was why she happened to be watching when Donna Moss herself stepped out of the elevator. She had a phone clamped to her ear and a playful smile on her lips.

Interesting.

Ronna glanced up to see if Josh had noticed her arrival. He had, he definitely had. In fact, he was staring at her as if he could devour her with his eyes. Donna spotted him immediately, stopped walking and just stared back for a moment. Then she flashed a wide grin, said something into her phone, and carried on walking.

Josh hung up, smiling to himself, and watched her join the Russell staff. "So…" he said distractedly. "We're heading out?"

"As soon as you're ready," Ronna said, standing up. "The Congressman's doing some work on the bus so we can…"

Josh bounced to his feet, skirting around the table. "Now is good."

The Russell camp, Ronna noted, were moving out en mass. Still stowing the fruits of her all-nighter in her briefcase, she struggled to keep up as Josh strode across the lobby. The remainder of their staff scurried along on his heels, Ronna trailing behind, so that when they reached the exit the Santos and Russell campaigns collided in an ungainly gaggle.

Josh maneuvered himself next to Donna and they walked through the doors together, so close their shoulders were bumping. Josh said something that made her laugh, and then they peeled off in different directions. But, because she was looking for it, Ronna noticed the way their fingers had been tangled together and how they were the last things to part as they went their separate ways.

Hurrying to catch Josh up - wondering if he even cared about the ACLU thing anymore - she realized that he was singing to himself. "…you are my candy girl, and you've got me wanting you! Ooo-Ooo-Ooo! Sugar, sugar…"

Briefly she wondered if she should be concerned that he seemed to be sleeping with the enemy. Was it something the Congressman needed to know? But she quickly dismissed it. She'd take Josh's tone-deaf singing over his yelling and ranting any day, and she had a feeling that in this mood he was going to be a whole lot more effective at getting the job done. And that's all that mattered.

Make love, not war, right? Especially in politics.


End file.
